


Friends with the Monster That’s Under My Bed

by Ghostwriter98



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Adorable Will, Bully Mason, Child Will, F/M, First Crush, Growing Up, Hannibal has a phenomenal sense of smell, Hannibal is Hannibal, Jealous Hannibal, M/M, Mason is crazy obsessed with pigs (like more so than in the series), Neat freak Hannibal, Obsessed Hannibal, Possessive Hannibal, Protective Hannibal, Teenager Will, Wendigo Hannibal, Will and Hannibal are besties
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-10
Updated: 2017-02-10
Packaged: 2018-09-20 15:23:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9498161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ghostwriter98/pseuds/Ghostwriter98
Summary: The wendigo slowly pulls himself out from under the bed, a mess of shadows and darkness. Will’s eyes widen considerably as they fall on the beast. Long majestic horns sprout from an ovular head. The head is attached to a skeletal torso, each visible rib protruding out from the blackened skin. Hannibal’s jaw ticks tensely, waiting for the little boy to react accordingly: to burst into sobs or run for safety or, most commonly, both.“Cool.” Will breathes in awe.“Pardon me?” Hannibal blinks. The wendigo has had many words thrown at him from people blinded by terror but “cool” is not one he is familiar with.Or,Bill Graham really should have listened to his son when he told him about the monster lurking underneath his bed. It would have saved a lot of lives.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the Rihanna and Eminem song “The Monster.”
> 
> "I'm friends with the monster that's under my bed  
> Get along with the voices inside of my head  
> You're trying to save me, stop holding your breath  
> And you think I'm crazy, yeah, you think I'm crazy"
> 
> Usually I write in past tense but I thought I'd challenge myself and give present tense a go. I hope you guys like it.  
> Italics = thoughts or emphasis

In old Algonquian folklore, there is a legend of a creature so malicious and brutish that it gorges its insatiable appetite on the human flesh. A being so terrifying that just mentioning its very name forces grown men to quiver in their boots. As time progresses and humanity grows in intelligence and size, belief in the supernatural fades and withers away. Only the youthful and imaginative still maintain their suspicion. It seems fitting then that Will Graham, a young boy who embodies these two qualities, becomes one of the first humans to become closely acquainted with...... a wendigo. 

\----:----

Will is five years old when he first sees the black antlers poking out from underneath his bed. He throws open his bedroom door and sprints to his father’s bedroom.

“Daddy! Daddy!” He cries as he jumps onto the old, tattered sheets.

“Will?” His father, Bill Graham, gruffly questions as he rubs his eyes tiredly. He turns on the light near his bed, illuminating the entire room. “What’s wrong?”

“T-there’s a monster under my bed.” Will stutters fearfully, shaking with open terror.

“Will, don’t be ridiculous.” His father scolds, turning back around to turn off the light once more. _Dismissive._

“There is!” The little boy protests determinedly. “I _saw_ him!”

“Monsters aren’t real, Will.” His father lectures with irritation. “Go back to sleep.”

“But daddy…..” Will’s lower lip trembles.

“Enough!” He snaps. “Go back to your room and get some sleep. You have kindergarten tomorrow, remember?”

The young boy hesitantly gets off the bed. His shoulders are slumped as he drags his feet back over to his own room, praying that he will survive the night.

Bill Graham really should have listened to his son. It would have saved a lot of lives.

 

\----:----

 

Will is seven when he first decides to engage in a conversation with the beast.

“Um, Mr. Monster? How long do you plan to live under my bed?”

“My name is not _Mr. Monster_.” The dark horned creature answers with mild indignation. “It is Hannibal. Hannibal Lecter to be precise.”

Will shrugs and repeats. “Are you going to stay under my bed forever because it makes it hard to sleep?”

“I apologize. I was not aware that my presence was noticed.”

“Well, it is.” The boy bites his lip at his own honesty. “So, get out.”

“No need to be rude now, Will.” The monster reprimands, causing Will to lower his face with shame. “Alas, most humans cannot see me unless I choose to reveal myself to them. You must be quite a gifted boy.”

Will scoffs, cheeks alight with a blush. “Not really. Everyone at school thinks I’m weird so they stay away from me.”

“How insolent of them.” Hannibal sounds quite affronted. “I on the other hand, enjoy your company immensely, Will.”

“You never talk to me though.” The boy frowns. “How can you like me if you don’t know me?”

“I did not believe you would desire to converse with what many would consider a demon.”

“But you're nice to me.” 

“How so?” Hannibal murmurs with barely concealed amusement. _Nice is not a word he or any of his many victims would use to describe himself._

“You haven’t eaten me yet.”

Hannibal laughs lowly. “ _Yet_ being the keyword.”

Tears gather in the boy's eyes as his heartbeat quickens with fear.

“Do not fret, Will. I do not devour children.” Hannibal’s nose scrunches up with disgust at the very thought. “That was merely a poor attempt on my part to be humorous.”

“S’not funny.” Will pouts petulantly. “You scared me, you big meanie.”

“My sincerest apologies.” Hannibal speaks somewhat regretfully. “I will not provoke such feelings of fear from you again.”

“Pinky promise.” The boy's voice is small and hopeful. He outstretches his smallest finger and waits.

“I do not believe that is a wise idea.”

“Why not?”

“My appearance is most frightening.” Hannibal reluctantly divulges.

“Nah,” Will giggles to himself, “nothings scarier than Mr. Budge.”

“You have been warned.” Hannibal is reluctant to leave the hidden reprieve of Will’s bed. After all, he has grown rather fond of the boy’s home over the past year and would hate to have to find another place to stay.

Hannibal slowly pulls himself out from under the bed, a mess of shadows and darkness. It is only when the creature stands upright, in front of the moonlight pouring in from Will’s window, that the boy can see him properly. Will's eyes widen considerably as they fall on the beast. Long, black majestic horns sprout from an ovular head. Sharp cheekbones jutting out from the face accentuate the whites of the eyes in the being’s sockets. The head is attached to a skeletal torso, each visible rib protruding out from the blackened skin. Broad shoulders slowly tamper into a thin waist where long muscled legs hold the creature upright. The beast towers over Will, antlers grazing the boy’s ceiling. Will wonders open mouthed how the monster could have even fitted under his small, single bed in the first place when he is so large. Hannibal’s jaw ticks tensely, waiting for the little boy to react accordingly: to burst into sobs or run for safety or, most commonly, both.

“Cool.” Will breathes in awe.

“Pardon me?” Hannibal blinks. The wendigo has had many words thrown at him but "cool" is not one he is well acquainted with.

“You're like, wow.” The boy jumps onto his feet and leans towards the horned creature with open fascination. “Your horns are big and pretty and your claws are soooo long.”

Hannibal flinches when Will rests his hand against his antlers, the boy towering precariously on the edge of his bed on his tippy toes to reach. He traces the sharp bones with curious fingers, marveling at the way they curl and bend around one another. _This is… unexpected. Greatly unexpected, welcomingly unexpected if Hannibal is being honest._ _It is refreshing not to be shunned or feared but instead to be seen as majestic and beautiful. The word monster gets so tiring and overused after centuries of life._

“Hannibal?” Will shakes his little finger with a puzzled facial expression.

“Right, my sincerest apologies. This is a most unusual response.” Hannibal admits, feeling uncharacteristically flustered and out of his element. A long claw-like ligament extends and reaches the child’s finger. Such contrast between the two. Soft finger meets bony, knobbly appendage. The tar black of Hannibal’s own skin accentuating Will’s pale skin tone. Hannibal thinks of Yin and Yang. How sometimes two opposing forces need each other to be balanced, to be whole.

 

\----:----

 

Will is ten when Hannibal teaches him how to read poetry. They spend many a night staying up, Will clutching a flashlight in one hand while Hannibal holds in front of the boy an English translated version of _Inferno_ by Dante Alighieri. It's a stolen copy though said owner is no longer alive to claim ownership so Hannibal likes to pretend it's his now. It’s difficult and hard for Will to comprehend the large words in the poem/s but the wendigo is patient and kind, helping Will even though he stumbles every couple of lines.

His father comments on the book when he first notices it a week later at breakfast.

“That’s an interesting book you’ve got there.” He says, gesturing at the copy in Will’s hands. Hannibal said Will could borrow it and as a result, the boy takes it with him _everywhere_. A constant reminder of his friend that only comes out from the shadows under his bed at night. He treats it carefully and delicately, keeping his sticky jam covered fingers far away.

“Hannibal gave it to me.” Will mumbles around a bite of bread.

“Hannibal?” His father quirks a brow. “Is that a new friend?”

“No, he’s been my friend for a while now.”

“How long?” Bill asks curiously. This is the first time he has heard about this Hannibal fellow.

Will dusts the crumbs off his fingers and holds them up in front of his face. He then counts out loud. “One, two, three, four, five…. _yeah_ , five years now.”

“Five?” Bill laughs loudly with surprise. “How come I have only just heard about this guy?”

Will shrugs. “I didn’t think you’d want to know about him.” 

“Why not?”

“He’s the monster from under my bed.” Will replies offhandedly as he shifts around on his seat to reach a cup of orange juice. “The one you said wasn’t real. Last time I brought him up, you got angry.”

Will’s father furrows his eyebrows worriedly. Then he breathes out a sigh of relief.

“Oh, right.” He nods to himself. “He’s an imaginary friend.”

Will frowns at his father. _There was nothing imaginary about Hannibal. In fact, the horned creature was the realest person he knew._

\----:----

 

Will is thirteen when he develops his first crush. Hannibal doesn’t like that. He doesn’t like that _at all._

The young girl is named Molly. She has long blonde hair and “pretty,” bright blue eyes. He has heard poetry waxed about these features over a hundred times from Will himself. _This is not why he educated Will on the works of Dante._ Hannibal finds it rather irritating. The only other time Will has used the word “pretty” in a sentence is when he describes Hannibal’s antlers and he feels like he is slowly being replaced. The wendigo is not prepared to let that happen. Will, the strange little boy, is the only person in the world who has seen him and not been terrified of him or tried to kill him with flimsy weaponry made to injure humans, not the supernatural.

 _No_ , Hannibal thinks morbidly to himself, _this threat must be eliminated._

He visits her exactly three weeks after Will first breathes her name. Hannibal knows, he’s counted. He scales the night, hiding in shadows and leaping across the roofs of houses. He is invisible unless he wishes to unveil himself with a few exceptions, such as those with special equipment (hunters) and those with the sight (incredible Will). The wendigo closes his eyes and focuses on the scent he smelt on Will’s hand the day he offered to give Molly one of his pencils, their fingers touching in the process and _apparently_ electricity crackled between them. Her unique smell of lily and youth leads him to a wooden door with tacky posters of boy bands and male singers on the front. He grimaces as he pushes open the door with a clawed hand. Hannibal hates terrifying children, they are too innocent to deserve his wrath. However, desperate times call for desperate measures. _If he is to choose between Will and a young woman's sanity, he would pick Will_. _He would pick his boy every single time._

He stands over Molly, towering over her fragile frame which is curled into a small ball. Hannibal then reaches out with a single talon and strokes eerily across her arm as he reveals himself. Molly stirs slightly, making a small moan in protest. Hannibal grits his teeth and tries harder, pulling back the covers this time.

“Five more minutes.” Molly grumbles as she turns over. “Just five more minutes of sleep, mum.”

Hannibal sighs softly out of his nose in mild annoyance. First Will’s exclamation of “cool” and now this easy brush off _._ _He must have lost his touch in inducing fear._

“Molly.” Hannibal whispers lowly, the name hardens beautifully around his accent. The teenager bolts up at the foreign sound and spins around hastily. Her lips open and she lets out a loud ear-splitting scream when her eyes fall on the wendigo. Hannibal smiles with all his sharp teeth. _He’s still got it._

“Be quiet,” Hannibal warns darkly, “or I’ll eat your tongue.”

It’s a lie. Hannibal doesn’t feast on children, only the scum of the earth. Molly, however, doesn’t need to know that. It works wonders. The teenager's mouth snaps shut and her eyes tear up.

“You will cease all interactions with Will Graham.” Hannibal states firmly.

“What?” Molly asks, wiping hastily at her watery eyes in the process.  

“You will not make eye contact, converse with him or engage in any other behaviour that may further provoke his romantic inclinations.” 

“Will likes me too?” Molly giggles to herself, a blush alighting her cheeks _. Maybe this grotesque creature is cupid in disguise? Why else would he be telling her this?_

Hannibal narrows his eyes.

“Yes, and you will expel such petty feelings through whatever means necessary.” Hannibal orders. He feels his iron clad control begin to unravel.

“But why?” Molly seems completely bewildered. “Why does this have anything to do with you? Shouldn’t you be eating babies or something instead of prying into the romantic lives of teens?”

Hannibal growls, a low and feral sound that makes Molly flinch. “I do _not_ consume infants. I much rather the rude.”

“Babies can be rude.” Molly points out. “They cry all the time and take no one else’s needs into consideration. They’re selfish.”

“They do not have the capacity yet to process and understand how their behaviour is self-centered.”

Molly crosses her arms and lets out a disbelieving huff.

“That is most impolite.” Hannibal notes with a curl of his lip.

Molly shivers with fear and pulls her legs to her chest. “Sorry.” 

“I will only accept your apology if you agree to the conditions I outlined previously in our conversation.”

Molly chews on her bottom lip, “but….”

“Molly.” Hannibal snaps with bared teeth.

The young girl ducks under the covers while muttering, “Okay, okay. I agree.”

Hannibal inhales deeply. _Why do people always believe they are safe hidden from his view?_ _It is so foolish. He can just as easily attack them when they are submerged under their blankets or in plain sight._

“It has been a pleasure conducting business with you.” Hannibal politely takes his leave because he might be a monster, but he still has manners.

Hannibal sits beside Will every night that week as he sobs into his pillow, heartbroken that Molly is in love with a boy named Justin. Hannibal almost laughs when he remembers the posters he spotted on her bedroom door. Regardless, he sits beside Will and coaxes him through the loss of his first love. He hopes she will be the last.

 

\----:----

 

Will is fourteen when he starts getting curious _, dangerously_ curious.

The boy is munching on his midnight snack consisting of stale cookies and cheap hot chocolate when the dreaded conversation starts. Hannibal eyes the crumbs tumbling into the recently changed bed sheets with open horror.

“Want some?” Will muffles around a mouthful of biscuit.

“Will, one should always eat with their mouth closed.” Hannibal reprimands gently. “It is a matter of manners.”

The boy rolls his eyes, laughing at Hannibal’s affronted look. He outstretches his arm and all but shoves the chocolate delight under the wendigo’s nose. Hannibal’s stomach recoils at the smell of human food and he hastily stumbles away to escape the stench.  Will frowns at his reaction.

“Don’t you like sweets?” Will scrunches up his nose in genuine confusion. _Everybody likes sweets._

“Not particularly.” Hannibal diverts his eyes away from the biscuit.

Will tilts his head to one side adorably as he ponders. He continues chewing on his cookies as he does so. Once finished, Will brushes his hands on his pajama pants. _Moments before perfectly clean pajama pants_. Hannibal visibly winces.

“Why don’t you ever eat?” Will questions perplexed, snapping the wendigo out of his mental rant about the importance of cleanliness.

Hannibal stiffens minutely and forces himself to relax.

“My tastes are very singular.” 

“So, you’re a picky eater.” Will laughs loudly. Hannibal’s eyes crinkle at the innocent, sweet sound. “Why am I not surprised?”

“I will not dignify that answer with a response.” The wendigo stiffly responds, trying and failing to suppress a small grin.

“So fussy.” Will shakes his head endearingly. “My fussy monster.”

 _My fussy monster._ Hannibal decides he quite likes the sound of that, even though he usually detests the use of the slanderous M word.

 

\----:----

 

Will is seventeen when Hannibal first notices the bruises. The boy is sleeping when Hannibal creeps out from under the bed and watches him, content to observe the gentle rise and fall of Will’s chest. The teenager’s breathing deepens suddenly and he starts tossing and turning, worried mutterings spilling passed his lips. Hannibal combs clawed fingers through the chocolate curls until Will has relaxed. Another shift exposes the bottom of Will’s stomach where a purplish blue splotch darkens the pale skin. Hannibal’s eyes narrow and his jaw tightens. It takes the teenager an entire month until, after gentle and relentless coaxing from Hannibal, the truth spills free.

“I’m being bullied.” The words are uttered with such humiliation and defeat that Hannibal feels his vision bleed red with rage.

“By whom?”

“This guy in the year above me.” Will hangs his head. Hannibal considers hanging the human who put Will in this position but decides against it. _He does not harm children, not even cruel and hurtful children._

“Perhaps a teacher should be alerted?” Hannibal questions tightly.

“I already tried but his dad is a huge funder of the school.” Will admits softly. “They don’t want to make him angry by expelling his son or putting him in detention.”

“Are you confessing to me that the principal of your schooling establishment refuses to punish a misbehaving minor because his father is wealthy?” Hannibal’s voice has become cold and calm, a rather worrying sign. “That the teachers have allowed and essentially condoned this bulling?”

“Yes.” Will sighs tiredly, rubbing his eyes. “No one can help me. I’m all alone.”

“You are not alone, Will.” Hannibal assures. “I am here and I will protect you.”

The words are familiar, uttered before in different circumstances. Except this time, Hannibal will _not_ fail. Will not let the boy slip through his fingers and leave him alone with a gaping hole in his heart, until loneliness is his sole companion.

 _Perhaps a scare is in order for this bully?_ Hannibal does not have to press Will to find the name of his tormentor. Will whimpers it in his sleep. The wendigo stares down at his curled fist and wills it to straighten. _Child,_ he reminds himself _, scare and only scare._ Hannibal bends down and sniffs the boy's black eye. Sure enough, he catches the scent of pig and expensive cologne where Mason’s fist connected with Will’s delicate face. _Scare not maim_.

He tracks the smell and climbs through a _ridiculously_ fancy window frame attached to an even more _ridiculously_ rich house. He then watches _ridiculously_ blond hair fanned across a pillow and a serene face smirk during sleep. Hannibal knows he’s overusing the word _ridiculous_ but that is the only word that describes a person foolish enough to harm his Will. The teenage boy starts making weird oinking noises in his sleep so Hannibal reaches out a clawed hand and yanks back an embroidered quilt none too gently. Unsurprisingly, the cover is filled with multiple pigs of all shapes and sizes. Mason startles awake with a loud snort.

“Give that back, you stupid maid!” He snaps rather rudely, clutching at Hannibal with tired, blurry eyes. “Or I will have my papa end your employment!”

“Mason Verger,” Hannibal rasps in a low tone, “I am not a maid. That career requires human qualities and I am rather lacking in that field.”

Mason rubs his eyes and then squints up at Hannibal. He curses, then fumbles around on his bedside dresser for a pair of glasses. Once they are perched on his nose, he blinks up at Hannibal. The wendigo finally comes into focus. 

“A demon!” Mason cheers. “Oh goody!”

Hannibal raises an unimpressed eyebrow.

“Looks like my Christmas present came early this year.” Mason ponders with a hand perched under his chin. “I can’t imagine why. I’ve been rather naughty, you see.”

“I am well aware.” Hannibal responds blandly, mind flashing back to Will’s bruised and battered body.

“I mean, I asked for a gangster to terrify the other kids and carry out my dirty business but _this_ ,” The Verger rambles with breathless elation, “is so much better! Imagine the fear a demon could cause!”

Hannibal’s lower lip curls with open distaste. _However, this could be quite an interesting opportunity. He could find out just how dark Mason’s desires run._ _Sure, Hannibal has never slaughtered and ate a child before but he has never encountered one quite as vulgar._

“Wendigo at your service.” Hannibal derisively comments with a little bow. “How might I be of assistance?”

Mason bounds onto his knees and claps his hands excitedly. “There’s this kid, right. His name is Will Graham.” The teenage boy doesn’t notice the wendigo narrow his eyes threateningly at the name. “I want you to scare him shitless. I want you to tell him that if he ever tries to rat my ass out again, you will rip out his heart and eat it raw.”

“Is this just a threat or an action you wish me to carry out?” The wendigo probes, voice icy.

“Goodness, no.” Mason shakes his head vehemently. “If he doesn't listen I want you to bring him to me so I can feed him to my pigs.” He then tacks on conversationally. “Only because it’s a much slower and painful process.”

Hannibal hums, he moves quietly towards the bedroom door and locks it. He then turns towards the curtains and draws them shut.

“What are you doing?!” The teenage boy demands loudly. “Stop that!”

“I am merely going to devour your heart.” Hannibal speaks casually as he runs his sharp talons along Mason’s footboard, piercing the wood in a show of strength and dominance. “Do not worry, I will give Will my best regards."

“No!” Mason screams as he pushes himself back against the furthest wall, the wendigo’s shadow crawling ever closer. “Stay back! Bad monster! Listen to your master!”

“Master?” Hannibal repeats with a hollow laugh. “I belong to only one and he is most certainly not you.”

Sharp claws snag onto Mason's pajamas, ripping away the expensive satin shirt to reveal the unblemished pale skin beneath. _Unmarked for now._

“No, please no!” The teenage boy begs breathily. “I’ll give you anything, _anything_ you could possibly want! I’m rich! My parents could work something out!”

“I am afraid that you have already caused immense psychological damage to the only “thing” I truly cherish and desire.” Hannibal growls lowly, accent heavier with the sound.

“Will Graham?” Mason’s eyes widen with realization. “The weird kid nobody likes? _Really?”_

Hannibal hisses, a low animistic sound that rattles passed snarled lips.

“Enough.” His raised voice echoes around the bedroom, making Mason flinch. The wendigo internally berates himself. He never loses his calm and collected demeanor, _never._ It’s been over a century since it has last happened. _What is Will Graham doing to him?_

The wendigo smiles with sharp teeth and feral eyes. “Might I suggest a decrease in coherent speech and an increase in agonized screaming?”

And Mason does scream and scream and _scream_. Unfortunately, by the time his parents race down from their bedroom, alerting servants in their wake, they are already too late. They find Mason lying on his back, a gaping hole in his chest. A bit of rib protrudes from the broken skin and blood is splattered along the wall nearest to the bed in a high arch. The teenage boy’s eyes are filled with terror even in death. Mr. and Mrs. Vergers' are in tears at the sight of the corpse of their gruesomely murdered son.

Forensic specialists and police will eventually come by. They will find no hairs or fingerprints at the crime scene. Not one scrap of evidence that can help in the identification of the murderer. All they will be able to note is the strange claw marks found on the wooden headboard and footboard and the missing heart from the boy’s chest. They are clues that the police are becoming increasingly familiar with in multiple crime scenes scattered around the area. It seems that Baltimore has a serial killer on their hands.

 

\----:----

 

When Will hears the news a few days later, he is overwhelmed with conflicting emotions. A part of him is relieved that he will no longer be brutally beaten in front of his peers and teachers who will dart sympathetic eyes away but another, _albeit smaller part_ , is mournful because being murdered is such an awful way to go. The teenage boy hears snippets about the incident from his superiors and other students but having no friends makes it hard to get the full story. His internet at home is on a strict for school only basis. That leaves the newspaper which his father is determinedly guarding from his prying eyes or the T.V. which has a tendency to lose signal and is also being watched over quite thoroughly. It appears that his father is quite fed up with Will’s talk and fear of monsters and is in no mood to further fuel the phobia or fascination. _It is hopeless_. At least, that is what Will had thought until he found a five dollar note stuck in a drain grate.

He bends down, wiping off grime and dirt and holds up the treasure with a broad smile. The teenager feels the soft tendrils of guilt curl around his heart. Will and his father really need this money but the boy has to know what happened to Mason. _He has to._ Something isn’t sitting right in his stomach. His intuition is screaming at him that something is wrong. He shoves away his conscience and walks to the nearest shop. There he purchases  _The Advertiser_ and hastily sits down on the closest bench. He can't wait until he gets home. He has to know _now_. _Finally, the answers are at his fingertips._ Mason Verger is front page news. Will scoffs when he thinks about how much the other boy would have loved that if he were still alive. Will quickly flicks through to page nine as detailed on the front cover:

 

 

 

> Mason Verger, son of Molson Verger and Madison Verger and heir of the Verger Meat Packing Dynasty, was found deceased in his bedroom at 10:30 pm this Tuesday. The killer climbed through Mason Verger's bedroom window late at night, mutilated his body and face and withdrew the boy's heart as a token of their crime. Autopsy specialists reveal that the boy was alive while his face was destroyed beyond recognition and his chest was pried open, other organs pierced and damaged before the heart was eventually removed and stolen.
> 
> Jack Crawford of the Behavioural Science Unit states that, “This was an act of a sociopath. The person in question was experiencing intense emotion during this crime, evident by the erratic splattering of the victim's blood and the violent, savage distortion of the face. The deep indents left on the wooden headboard and footboard indicate that the fury was not fully dispelled during the violence and that the perpetrator might strike again. My advice to the general public would be to lock your bedroom windows and to draw your curtains shut at night."
> 
>  

An attached photo of deep thick grooves carved into the headboard of a rich mahogany bed frame causes Will’s breath to catch in his throat. _Deep indents? The sort of marks left by claws?_

Will’s mind flickers back to his conversations with Hannibal with growing dread;

“Do not fret, Will. I do not devour children.”

_Children, not people, children. Oh God._

“My appearance is most frightening.”

_Talons, sharp teeth, fast legs. The qualities of a predator._

“You are not alone, Will….I am here and I will protect you.”

_Hannibal knew. Knew about what Mason was doing to him. How much it hurt Will._

“Person in question was experiencing intense emotion...”

_Hannibal cared about Will deeply. So deeply. He must have been angry when he realized what was happening to him. How none of the teachers would stop it._

“My tastes are very singular.”

_No, he couldn’t. Hannibal wasn’t a murderer. Couldn’t possibly….._

“Heart was eventually removed and stolen” a “token of their crime”

_….eat people._

It settles heavy and hard in Will's stomach. A fact hard to digest. He knows it to be true and that _hurts._ It hurts because Hannibal is Will’s best friend. _There isn’t supposed to be any secrets between them. The monster isn’t supposed to consume or kill humans._

The teenage boy drags his feet home. He does not speak to anyone, even when he is greeted later that night by his father. He doesn't sleep in his room either but rather on the couch. Will douses himself in cheap manly cologne and wears his father's stinky work clothes to bed so that he can't be tracked by the wendigo. He is furious and depressed and a lot of other things as well. He just can’t bear to see Hannibal’s face right now. It’s childish but he spends the rest of the week there too, hardly sleeping not because of the hard springy surface underneath him but because he can’t stop thinking about how stupid he was. _An old monster that’s friends with a little boy? Come on, how pathetic! Hannibal was probably just biding his time, waiting for Will to grow and fatten up for a more satisfying meal._

Meanwhile, Hannibal is catatonic in Will’s room. The boy has never _not_ slept in his bed. Will doesn’t have sleepovers because he has no friends. He doesn’t stay with relatives because they live too far away and his father can’t afford a plane ticket. _So where could he possibly be? Did something terrible happen? Was he kidnapped?!_ A few runs around the street at night dispel that idea. A fresh trail of Will's scent is nowhere to be found. The only fresh scent he can find is his usual walk to and from school and even that is stale. As the days drag by, the wendigo paces back and forth the perimeter of Will’s room for hours every night. He’s anxious, talons running along his antlers in agitation. Hannibal can’t remember the last time he felt this helpless or out of control. Rather pathetically, he resorts to sleeping in Will’s sheets and blankets, desperate for the comforting aroma. He scolds himself the following day. _This nervous wreck is a disgrace to the wendigo race._ That doesn’t stop him from doing it again and again and _again_. He convinces himself that Will is dead and that is the reason why he cannot find his scent. He tries to force himself to move on and leave the Graham household, to find another to spend his time with but he can’t. _There is no other. No other being who will ever look at him with awe and fascination and see beyond the pointy teeth and razor sharp claws to the heart that’s underneath. There is only Will._

 

\----:----

 

It takes two long weeks for Will to finally find the strength to face Hannibal, his former best friend and current serial killer and human eater.

He drags himself into his room with heavy feet and an even heavier heart. He has to blink constantly, vision blurry. Dark circles rest under his eyes, a reminder of how little he has slept. He closes his door quietly, stiffening at the sound of scuttling. Hannibal has poised mid-step, in the middle of another grueling pace around the room he knows every inch of. His head twists towards Will and freezes. The teenager releases a soft breath.

The wendigo then leaps at him. Will closes his eyes tightly. _This is it. This is the end. He is dead meat, literally._

“Will!” Hannibal crushes the boy to him in a tight embrace. He pulls back with his talons gently resting on Will's shoulders, voice filled with worry as his eyes flicker over every scrap of available skin. “Will, are you injured? Where have you _been?”_

“Downstairs,” Will answers dumbfounded, “sleeping on the couch.”

“Down the stairs?” Hannibal repeats disbelievingly, face tightening as his voice takes on a rough edge. “Do you have the slightest clue how anxiously I have been awaiting your return?! What were you thinking, foolishly disappearing without an explanation of any kind?! I thought you had been murdered and left to rot on the side of the road! How could you have been so selfish?!”

“My sincerest apologies,  _monster.”_ Will’s voice positively reeks of bitterness. “For not considering how my absence would impact you. I wouldn’t want you to starve.”

“What is the meaning of this disrespect?”

“You kill people, Hannibal!” The teenager screams, running his hands aggravatingly through his hair. “You bloody butchered Mason!”

The room falls deathly silent.

“I knew it.” Will sighs tiredly. “I fucking knew it.”

“Will.” The wendigo warns lowly.

“Don’t!” The teenager holds his hand up in a silencing gesture. “Don’t tell me off for minor things when you fucking kill adolescents in their sleep. I can’t believe I thought you were my _friend._ ” Will laughs dryly. “I was probably next on your menu for Christ's Sake.”

“No.” Hannibal swears vehemently as he reaches out to Will with desperation. “I would never cause you such pain, Will. _Never_.”

“You already have.” Will admits heavily as he slumps down on his bed. He rubs his eyes with a grimace.

The wendigo slowly approaches the enraged boy, sitting gently beside him.

“What do you desire to know?” He queries softly with apprehension.

“What do you eat, Hannibal?” Will’s shoulders sag dejectedly.  _He has to hear it come from the monster’s lips. Has to dispel the small doubt, the small hope that he could be wrong._

“Will, please don't force me to do this.” Hannibal’s tone has a distressed edge to it.

“What do you _eat?_ ” He repeats, slower this time, unrelenting in his pursuit for the truth.

“Humans.”

The teenager groans into his hands. _Of course he had been right._

“Why?”

“It is what my kind must do to survive.” Hannibal's tone is cold and detached now in a clinical way. “We cannot sustain ourselves on human food.”

“What are you exactly?” Will is already dreading the answer the second the question leaves his lips.

“A wendigo.”

“A wendigo?” Will laughs humorlessly. “And here I was thinking it would be something as mainstream as a vampire. Should have known better.”

“Yes, overgrown leech does not quite suit me, I'm afraid.” Hannibal retorts ruefully. “What I am is undoubtedly worse.”

The teenager swallows thickly.

“Wendigos do not feed as vampires do. We do not stop once we have tasted enough blood, we _never_ stop after the first bite. We rip flesh off the bone, not pierce it with small fangs. We devour until nothing is left. My kind are never satisfied, we are always hungry. It permeates our thoughts and leaves little room for much else.”

Will nods dizzily. _This is getting worse._

“Legend states that a wendigo is formed when a person consumes another human’s flesh. If that is indeed true, I do not remember who I once was. I am only aware of what I am now.”

Will is speechless, completely and utterly speechless.

“Will,” Hannibal urges after the minutes of silence stretch unbearably long, “please say something.”

The teenager opens his mouth and tries to force words out. They rattle in his throat, lodged behind the lump that has formed.

“Will?” Hannibal probes softly, hesitantly reaching a clawed hand forward. The instant the cold talon touches the warm skin of his arm, Will flinches.

“I can’t.” The teenager chokes out, eyes shut tight. “Go! Just _go_!”

“Will.” Hannibal’s voice is pleading now, heart racing with fear.

“I just - ” Will shudders, voice breaking hoarsely, “can’t bear the sight of you right now. Go!”

Hannibal slowly stands, looking down at the boy who changed everything for him. His Will, who can’t even bring himself to look at Hannibal, too full of disgust and hatred. It’s agonizing for Hannibal whose heart clenches and his eyes fill with - _well, what do you know?_ _Wendigos can cry after all._

“I am deeply sorry for all the pain I have caused you.” Hannibal can’t remember the last time he was so consumed with regret _. Regret not for murdering Mason, he’d never feel remorse for protecting Will from harm. No, the regret is for being what he is._

Will makes a wounded noise.

The wendigo slips towards the door, he opens it and glances once more at Will’s utterly broken form. _He can't leave it like this._

“If there is ever some way you could forgive me…?” Hannibal implores hopefully. 

The teenage boy’s head pops up, posture perking slightly.

“Don’t eat anymore humans.” Will demands. “That's the only way I could ever forgive you.”

Hannibal will die. Will knows it and is aware of how many lives he will save with the wendigo’s death. Hannibal just wants his boy – _no, the boy. Not his, not anymore_ \- to be happy. And if suicide is what Will desires most of him, he will gladly do it.

“If that will soothe your conscience,” Hannibal nods his assent, “so be it.”

“Pinky promise.” Will squeaks and Hannibal is transported to a better time. 

“Pinky promise.” The wendigo affirms with a small smile. He extends his claw and hooks it with the teenager’s little finger. It's the last time they will ever touch. The wendigo wonders if Yin can survive without its Yang. He immensely hopes so. Hannibal doesn’t want Will to wither and perish as he himself will slowly do as the decades pass and he does not touch a single morsel of human flesh. He wants Will to grow old and fall in love, find friends and have a family. _He deserves the best. He deserves more than Hannibal could ever give him._

“Goodbye, Will.” He whispers softly, reverently.

“Goodbye, Hannibal.” The teenager half waves. Hannibal suppresses a small smile. He didn’t call him a monster. He called him by his name. The only scrap of humanity he has left from his former life. Although, Hannibal would argue against a great many people that he does still have a human heart under all this skin and bone, a heart with the capacity to love. A heart with the ability to beat and eventually stop for Will and only for Will. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading.
> 
> Also, I did slide in a Fifty Shades of Grey quote in there. I'm sorry but it fit the scene perfectly.
> 
> New note (23/6/17): I just want to say that I find it so incredible that I'm still getting kudos and comments on a story I posted around 4 to 5 months ago. You guys are amazing! Thank you so much.


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